Page 32 of The Deathless One
“Not this time, it seems. After all, she died. Her daughter died. Her entire kingdom was thrown into turmoil, and it took me to save everything.” He snorted. “Of all people.”
“I’m not taking advice from a dead man.”
“Dead god,” he corrected. “And are you really done with this one?”
She glanced over her shoulder to see him pointing at Leon. “Not yet. But this is just a memory, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t go back in time and change the fact that he killed me.”
“But—” He drew out the word.
“But I intend to see him dead, eventually.”
“So why not now? It’s your memory. If you want him gone, I can make him gone.” He turned toward Leon, and she swore she saw his entire shape darken even further. Suddenly, it was like she stared into utter darknesswithout a single spark of light. “I wouldn’t mind the order if you asked me to kill him, witch.”
A thrill of power echoed through her chest. Jessamine touched the sudden ache between her ribs, only to realize it wasn’t she who had the reaction. No, it was him. The Deathless One wanted to hurt Leon. He wanted to do whatever he could, even in this memory.
And she found herself more than a little intrigued. “All right,” she found herself saying. “Get rid of him.”
“Gladly.” The feral sound of a snarl echoed throughout the courtyard before the Deathless One raised a suddenly clawed hand and plunged it into Leon’s chest.
To her shock, the memory staggered at the sudden attack. Leon’s eyes bulged out of his head; he stared down at his torso before looking up at the massive outline of darkness that stood before him. A black hand, inky with blood, withdrew from his chest to hover in front of Leon’s horrified gaze.
“You reek of murder,” the Deathless One snarled. “What survived your attack will not be so easy to kill a second time.”
Cracks formed all up and down Leon’s memory, like she’d dropped a glass from a great height. With the barest touch of the Deathless One’s claw, he shattered. All that remained was the faintest gray dust on the ground.
Her mouth was open, she realized. But really, he had just turned a memory to dust.
“Could…”
“Could he feel that in the real world?” the Deathless One grumbled, wiping his hand on his leg before turning to her. “Probably. He likely saw the image of me as well, though he’ll ignore it as a nightmare or a passing panic attack. It was a good warning for him, though. He shouldn’t get too comfortable on that stolen throne.”
He’d… sent a warning? For her?
Warmth bloomed in her chest. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he growled.
“For looking out for me.”
He didn’t respond to that, but she had a feeling she’d made him very uncomfortable. Something about that was so satisfying.
Pleased with herself, she turned her attention once again to her mother. The queen was perfect. But Jessamine hadn’t remembered her brow being wrinkled with concern, or the way her mother had clutched the skirts in her lap so hard that she’d crumpled them.
Had she thought this might happen? Was there some worry in her mother’s mind that maybe this hadn’t been the right choice?
Perhaps she’d realized the same thing the Deathless One had realized. They’d been fooled, and they were all about to suffer for it.
“Move the memory forward,” she whispered. “Just by a few moments.”
Jessamine stood there in the center of chaos as the gates burst open, as Leon yelled at her, as her mother sat there in the middle of all that madness and never moved a muscle. As though her memory was frozen while everything else moved.
“I’m afraid I’ll forget,” she whispered as the Deathless One paused the memories once again. “I’m afraid that one day, I will try to remember her and I won’t know what her smile looks like. I won’t know the sound of her laughter, or the way she used to make this little noise whenever she disapproved of my outfit. Someday I won’t be able to recall if her gray streak was on the right or the left side of her head. Maybe I won’t even remember the exact shade of her eyes. Were they an icy blue? Or were they the color of the sky?”
She felt his presence behind her, lurking just out of reach. “Well?” he asked. “What color are they?”
She stared into her mother’s eyes, feeling twin tears drip down her cheeks as she answered. “Sapphire. Like a calm lake on the clearest of days. I thought I had years to learn and remember all this. To commit every detail to memory. If only I had known there were mere seconds left.”
There was the strange sensation of a hand hovering over her shoulder before it drifted away.
